


Refuge

by Lockea



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Dehumanization, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Mpreg, Non-Traditional Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Slavery
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-10
Updated: 2018-09-10
Packaged: 2019-07-10 20:19:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,936
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15956783
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lockea/pseuds/Lockea
Summary: Making up less than 10% of the human population, alphas and omegas represent a return to humanity's more base desires. Ruled by instinct, common knowledge is that an alpha or an omega cannot be trusted with much beyond brute and menial tasks and furthering the human race. Most alphas and omegas present at birth, but some present as late as twenty-five.When Timothy Drake-Wayne presents as an omega at the age of eighteen it changes his life forever, no longer the heir to his family, no longer even a person, Tim is forced to find his way through the secret world he knew nothing about, a world inhabited by the shadows of once great humans. His only guide is his once-brother’s alpha pet, Jason, whose wicked cleverness belies a truth Tim didn’t dare acknowledge before.





	Refuge

**Author's Note:**

> Digging myself out of writer's block these last few months has been Fun. Like the band, complete with the period. Anyway, I'm still staring at a hundred WIPs trying to figure out what the hell I even want to work on, so if you want to propose fics to a vote, I can try to prioritize those. I'm also thinking about taking requests, if anyone wants to request something.
> 
> This fic is dedicated to Kattitina, for being a giant Tim/Jay fan and therefore inspiring me to write one. I'm still a pretty big Jay/Dick fan, but I'll multiship. Multishipping is fun.
> 
> The rape/non-con warning isn't for a few chapters and will be warned for when it happens. For the time being, enjoy some creepy ass dehumanization instead.

They’ve taken his clothes. That, more than anything, is what brings him closest to the brink of despair, of realization. They’ve taken his clothing and left him naked in this cage they call a cell, with just a blanket for comfort. No bed, a bare metal toilet, and a sink. Bars on one side grant no privacy and all that’s left is the feeling that his life is over. It is, isn’t it? Because it was never his to begin with. He huddles under the blanket for warmth from the concrete cell and waits, waits, waits.

Eventually, a woman steps into the cell and smiles at him gentle and smooth. “Such a pretty thing you are.” She coos as if to a small child or a pet. Isn’t that what he is? A pet. “The whole world was shocked to hear you managed to impersonate a person for so long, little omega, but I’m sure it was just your nature to try your best and not let anyone down. You’re sweet, aren’t you?”

He bares his teeth at her, a grimace more than a snarl.

“Eyes down, omega.” The woman snaps, but a moment after her demeanor changes back to her earlier softness, especially when he does as ordered and looks down at the floor, not even realizing he’d followed her orders. He’d heard about this before – watched Bruce use it once or twice on the rogue alphas and omegas he returned to their owners. The ability of a human to use their tone of voice to bring an omega to heel, to calm and soothe an alpha agitated. She smiles at him, all sweet and syrup. “Now, then, I’m your behaviorist and trainer for the next few weeks. I recommend cooperating to make things simple but first I need to ask you a few questions.” He stays silent, eyes on the ground, blanket wrapped around him. “Do you remember who you were?”

It’s almost insulting actually. Nothing has changed. He kept waiting for months, during the long days when he kept it a secret, this change, this metamorphosis that he never wanted. Yet he remained just as smart, as capable, as driven as he was before the change took hold of him. The only difference was his body, not his mind. “Yes.” He answers. “I am Timothy Jackson Drake-Wayne.”

“Were, darling.” The woman insists firmly. “But we’ll make things simple for you. Your name is Tim from now on. Now, here’s the part we’re not sure of. How long did you impersonate a person Tim? When did you change?”

He scowls as his name is taken from him, even if Tim is the nickname he’s used his whole life. It feels different, the way she says it, the finality of her tone. He is expected to be grateful, as if there is kindness in this action, rather than loss. Stubbornly, he keeps his silence.

She sighs and leaves and he is left alone to wait, and remember, and wait some more.

*~*~*

“Keep it hidden.”

Tim startles at the unexpected voice. He’s come to spend the weekend at Dick’s place but Dick is out for the day, at work, and so it’s just Tim and Dick’s pet. He’s never heard the alpha speak before even though theoretically Tim knows that nothing about being an alpha or omega affects vocal cords. The only real difference is in brain development and language acquisition.

His response is more a result of the unexpected noise from the alpha than from the words themselves. “Beg pardon?” He asks dumbly, staring at the alpha who is seated on the floor near the window, staring out at the city streets below.

Tim almost thinks he imagined the words as he turns back to what he’s doing in the kitchen, making another pot of coffee before he goes back to sit down on the couch and pulls his laptop back into his lap, reading over the latest brief sent over by Bruce for him to review. He’s almost forgotten about the conversation when the alpha speaks again.

“You’re changing. I can smell it. If you aren’t careful, everyone else will know soon enough.”

Tim frowns. Must be a bit addled in the head, he thinks, with a rut coming up soon. Didn’t Dick mention that? Must be imagining things. Still, he asks. “What gave you that impression?”

The alpha looks bored, seated by the window and watching cars pass by, his collar around his neck and the long chain looped so that it doesn’t get caught when he moves. The drab, shapeless shirt can’t hide rippling muscles that flex as he shifts to look over at Tim for the first time.

“Denial won’t save you. People like you – you’re too proud. You’d best keep it a secret.” Then he rises to his feet and moves past the coffee table, scent like salted ocean washing over Tim as the alpha heads for his nest on the floor of Dick’s bedroom.

Still, the words stay with him.

*~*~*

The trainer says he’s getting better, calls him a good boy whenever she comes and he goes to his knees like he’s been taught. She feeds him from her hands and tells him how sweet he is, how happy she is to see him embrace his true nature.

He wants to be sick, but if it gets him out of this cell sooner, he’ll do what he has to. It’s been a little over two months – two heats – and the feverish burn never really goes away as he lies panting and sweating on the cell floor, the shameful slick running down his thighs, the smell sharp and sour in the air, his own distress at being without a mate almost as distressing to him as his reaction to such base desires. He really is less than human, isn’t he?

Yet through it all – through the crippling numbness of it all – he stays as alert and aware of himself as he had before the madness took his mind, before his body changed without his consent. He is, beyond all, still Timothy Jackson Drake-Wayne. That has not changed.

It’s just after his second heat in that dimly lit prison that his trainer arrives with a bundle of clothes in her possession. She smiles at him as he goes to his knees before her like he’s been taught, hands folded across his thighs, head bowed in supplication. Lower lip worried between his teeth where she can’t see past the fall of dark bangs. “Tim.” She smiles at him. “You’re a sweet boy today, aren’t you? Well I’m happy to say you’re going to a new home. A good home. Someone already wants to breed you. Isn’t that wonderful?”

There’s something more terrifying than being an omega in his mind. Something far worse than that – being a bred omega. Being subjected to his base desires and an animal in their midst. Of an alpha, unfamiliar and unwanted, rutting into his body until even that betrays him one final time, in the creation of a new human life. Alphas and omegas may only make up ten percent of the population, but they contribute over forty percent of all births each year. Their fertility – the ease with which they fall pregnant or carry multiple children to term at once – makes them popular choices for continuing the human race. After all, where a human woman falls pregnant once or twice in her lifetime, an omega can become pregnant with high repeatability over and over and over again, bearing twenty children in their life or more with ease.

His hands clench in his legs at that, he bites his lip hard enough it almost bleeds, and when the trainer sets his new uniform down on the floor – a pastel lavender color that’s almost gray, shapeless and easy to maneuver in and out of, symbols of his status – he waits until it becomes clear she won’t leave – won’t give him the illusion of privacy – before he takes and changes clothes. He stays on his knees as he moves through the motions and slides back to his knees when he finishes.

The trainer coos at him again and runs her fingers through his growing hair and against his will he seeks out the shallow affection offered, deprived of human touch even when his entire body strains for it, desires it, calls out for it. Lastly, sealing his fate, she slips a leather collar around his neck and fastens the buckle just below his Adam’s apple, a chain attached to the ring stamped into the collar. By the chain she leads him, on his hands and knees, behind her and through the compound where he’d been brought the day he was found out, where he’s stayed for over two months while the world around him seemed to stop turning. But it has turned. Summer was waning when he’d been discovered, and now fall has blown in cold and blustery and the trees are bare of leaves already. Fall is short in Gotham, Halloween has either come and gone or will come in the next few days. Tim isn’t sure, but it’s late fall from outside the glass windows of the nice sitting area reception room his trainer leads him into.

And Tim could cry. Because there, waiting for him in the waiting room, is Tim’s once brother Dick, with Jason sitting calmly at his feet and the world, of course, tilts sideways once more.

*~*~*

“How did you know.” Tim asks a week later, when Dick has come to stay at the manor and his pet is with him. They’re alone in Dick’s bedroom, because Tim is supposed to be sleeping but instead he’s in here, talking to the alpha.

“I could smell it.” The alpha tells him simply. Tim almost imagines the alpha prefers the room at Wayne manor, where his nest is made of soft down comforters instead of scratchy polyester ones, where the pillows are fuller, softer. Alfred almost spoils the alpha whenever Dick comes to visit. Still, he doesn’t seem quite as content as he did a few minutes ago, when Tim had first knocked on the door to make sure Dick wasn’t in the room. “You can too, can’t you? I’ve been told that the first sign you’re changing is the way everything smells.”

That explains a bit, actually, about why everyone has unfamiliar and yet familiar scents to them, hanging in the air between them. The alpha himself makes Tim’s world feel slightly to the left of center. The alpha is low level stressed, a near constant that Tim has been able to tell is old. “I can smell you.” Tim points out.

The alpha snorts a laugh. “I could smell you when you came to visit last week. Distressed and sickly, like your body doesn’t have enough energy to change. Weak; you’d never survive a heat.”

“A heat?” His voice is a near whisper. “I’m an omega?”

“Did you think you were an alpha?” The alpha asks. And it’s then, of course, that it dawns on Tim that he doesn’t know the alpha’s name. So he asks. “My den mother called me Jason. I’m told it’s on my paperwork too.”

“What does my brother call you?”

Jason shrugs. “Jay, Jaybird. Whatever nickname he can think up at the moment.” He glances up at Tim, meeting his eyes. “You still have questions?”

“Yes.” Tim replies. “When will my intelligence begin to fade? When will I become a creature of instinct?”

“You won’t. You’ll stay you.” Jason says, and Tim doesn’t have a response to that.


End file.
